


untitled seven (blue)

by thedarknesswithin (babylxxrry)



Series: untitled [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/thedarknesswithin
Summary: the train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. -- sikenan interlude
Series: untitled [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/981528
Kudos: 5





	untitled seven (blue)

**Author's Note:**

> for fox. 
> 
> merry christmas <3

You stand on the platform of a train station somewhere in the middle of Europe. You’re shivering and your nose is numb and the wind is forcing cold in through your jacket, layers be damned, and you’re pretty sure your lashes are frozen.

You look over at your traveling companion, your best friend, your partner in crime, one of the very few people you’d die for without being asked. She looks as cold as you, hands shoved into her pockets and the ends of her scarf whipping in the wind.

“How much longer?” she asks, glancing around for a station clock or announcement board. Neither is within sight.

“Five? Ten?” you reply, the flesh on your cheeks and jaw seeming to lag behind your tongue. “It’s probably running late.”

“No shit.”

You can’t see her mouth under her scarf, but the raise of her eyebrow judges you for not picking a later departure time from the hostel. You shrug. Who are you to anticipate the lack of traffic in a city neither of you know?

You blink hard when a new gust of ice-cold wind hits you in the face and sends your hood flying off. You tug your hands out of your pockets to fix it, half-losing a glove in the process. Your friend just watches, her eyes smiling at you. God damn her and her sadistic streak. You manage to wrestle your hood back on and tie the strings tighter, and pull your gloves mostly back on, except the last time you did this, your hands were warm and capable of actual movement. A strip of skin at your wrist stings in the cold.

“Here, let me,” she finally says, beckoning you closer. She takes her gloves off and tugs yours so that it fits snugly over your hand. Somehow she can put her own back on just fine.

“Thanks.”

“Where would you be without me?” She bounces up and down on her toes, the pompom on top of her hat bobbling along.

“Frozen, apparently.”

She gives you an amused, pitying look.

A train whistle sounds somewhere down the track and her eyes brighten. 

“At last, at long last, our savior is here!” she exclaims with an exaggerated accent of some sort. She laughs, a little wildly, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer to the center of the platform. You grin and follow her. You’d follow her anywhere.

The warmth of the train is a blessing and a curse. It makes your cheeks hurt and your nose run and you can’t pull layers off fast enough, but it’s not long before you can take a full breath and settle into your seat. She’s sitting across from you, a small table separating your seats. She scrunches up her nose and pats blood back into her cheeks, and you watch the way her skin turns from blue-tinged to warm pink.

She smiles at you when she flags down a passing staff member to ask for a drinks menu.

The motion of the train makes you sleepy.

You briefly think about reminding her that the next stop is only three hours out, but then you remember that you already told her what the next city was before you left the hostel.

She’ll remember. She always does.

You close your eyes for a little bit, letting the rumbling of the train soothe you.

She talks quietly with another staff member, pointing at something on the menu.

She pulls a journal out of her backpack.

The staff member returns with a steaming drink and a cookie.

The table has two cup holders. The drink goes in one. The cookie stays on the table.

The spine of the journal creaks softly when she opens it and starts writing.

The last thing you see before you fall asleep is her watching you carefully, her scarf draped loosely around her neck.

//


End file.
